Alagaesia's Women (Lemons)
by HodorHodorHodorHodorHodor
Summary: Various lemons around characters in the Inheritance Cycle. Lemons, don't like don't read don't flame. I repeat, if you dislike this material, don't flame, just read something else.
1. EragonNasuada

Chapter 1, Nasuada

'Nasuada wishes your presence, Shadeslayer.'

It was not a request; it was an order. Eragon sighed as he staggered towards the tent pitched on the fringes of the Burning Plains. Behind him, vents dug deep into the earth, burning deposits of sulphur releasing toxic fumes into the air. Since the battle, survivors of both armies had done their best to evacuate.

Eragon did not. Elves themselves had an innate resistance to all poisons, whether they came as liquids or through the air. While he would sicken given enough time, it would take years of living on the Plains for it. But his mind wasn't as well equipped; every blink, and he saw the face of a man with Zar'roc imbedded in his heart, or screaming in Saphira's fire.

But most of all, he saw Thorn, wings casting deep shadows that blotted out the sun. And the warrior atop his back, the warrior with a hand-and-a-half sword, whom he had fought and lost to. Murtagh Morzansson took his heritage, from the younger brother to the elder.

The Rider still could not come to terms with it. Morzansson. Eragon Morzansson, son of the Forsworn. Oromis knew... Brom knew... even fucking Ajihad probably knew. And they kept it hidden from him, why? Because they were afraid he would betray them if he knew? Now that the truth came by the man who held a sword to his throat, it struck him all the more harder.

He had already spoken to Nasuada once after the battle, revealing to her what Murtagh revealed to him. She had listened calmly and patiently, before giving him permission to leave and drown his sorrows in a bottle of wine.

Still, this was a time when he cursed the half-elf he had become. Elves themselves were resistant to alcohol's effects; three bottles of wine, and nothing save the mildest headache. The messenger had arrived just when he began work on a fourth, intending to drink until either the Varden's entire supply was gone or he was unconscious, whichever came first.

Six Nighthawks stepped in front of him; Nasuada's personal guard, oaths sworn to give their lives for her. Upon seeing who the apparent intruder was, they took several steps backwards, offering frantic apologies. He staggered past them, pushing aside the tent flap.

Nasuada lay against a bed, the thick blanket exposing only what was above her bare shoulders. The leader of the Varden seemed weary, tired, as though every death she had seen in the past few hours had caught up with her. Just as it had with Eragon. He wasn't surprised to see two bottles of wine on the side of the bed, one of them drained, the other half empty.

Still, despite her lesser consumption of the alcohol, a gentle probe of her mind was enough to tell that she was drunk. Far more than him; she could barely think straight. Then she opened her eyes, and spoke.

'Eragon?'

'Yes, m'lady?' He tried to bow, but it felt as though his legs were giving way underneath; he staggered, falling onto one knee, before awkwardly pulling himself up. Nasuada laughed at the display.

'I... I can see him.'

'Who, m'lady?'

'A man... a magician... he cloaked himself, bent the light around him so we couldn't see him until it was too late. He gave me a knife in the ribs as my own met his heart. It... it isn't like watching it from outside the battlefield. I watched him panic, I watched the life leave his eyes...'

'You took a knife to the ribs? Is that why you're like this? Didn't anyone heal you?'

'He... killed the Nighthawk magicians... first... couldn't get patched until after the battle.'

'But I spoke to you, directly after.'

'His name was Aaron. Not the assassin... the man who healed me. Or tried to. The knife was poisoned, it took all his power to keep me standing. He says I'll recover, but it could take weeks like this.'

He took several steps forward; Nasuada tried to protest, but he ignored it. 'Where did he stab you?' Eragon asked.

He recieved no response, so Eragon pulled off the blanket. What he saw surprised him; Nasuada wore almost nothing save for a bra and a pair of undergarments. Without letting the tanner examine the woman's breasts directly, it was unlikely that a bra would be a good size, and this was most certainly not. It was small, small enough to hug her dark skin and expose the slightest hint of a nipple.

'Enjoying the sight?' Nasuada smiled.

Eragon started to mumble apologies as he looked to the wound on her side. The bandages themselves were soaked red; no wonder she was this weak, the fool healer failed in stitching the wound!

'This is going to hurt,' he told her, before gently pulling them off, one by one. She suppressed a moan of pain with each, until the wound was bare. Finally, Eragon whispered several spells to first clean the wound, remove dirt and grime from it, then to close it. The drain on his energy didn't impact him; he could feel most of it coming from an unconscious Saphira, who, he guessed, had consumed several barrels of ale.

Nasuada looked to where the wound once was, the relief evident in her expression.

'The spells I placed should neutralize the poison, m'lady,' Eragon spoke, trying to avert his eyes from her frame.

'Stop calling me 'your lady'. The dragon riders of old lived apart from kings and queens; I am not your superior, nor are you mine. The oath you swore didn't bind you to only calling me 'your lady.' My name is Nasuada.'

'A-a-apologies, m'la- Nasuada,' he continued to say, trying to leave the tent.

'Then again, if you insist on referring to me as your superior, 'm'lady' commands you to stay in the tent.'

Eragon stopped moving towards the exit; to remain was one thing, but to defy her orders was another. Most certainly a terrible career move, he thought.

Still, the meditation Oromis had forced on him did something right; though it took his effort, he found he could resist looking upon Nasuada's suggestive frame. What he couldn't suppress was an erection, the sight of her still fresh in her mind.

'Look at me, Eragon. Don't keep acting scared and nervous. Look. At. Me.'

She was drunk, that was evident; but at that, another snatch of Eragon's self control faded. She had pulled the blanket off entirely, before holding her head up with both arms, lying on her stomach with her feet directly above her rear. It took all Eragon's will to avoid tearing off the Varden leader's remaining clothing.

'My first time was nine years ago, with a man,' she began to say, hiccuping halfway through the sentence. 'I was fourteen, he was only three days my senior. The grandson of one of my father's advisors. I welcomed him into my bed out of curiosity.

'When father found out, he was furious. Nine years later, and I'm still laughing at how he reacted. He couldn't exectute the boy, or even exile him; his grandfather held too much influence for that. It was just something he had to bear with.'

She turned to Eragon. 'Eragon... is there something wrong with me? I'm drinking and laughing a few hours after I sent thousands to their deaths.'

He felt compelled to place a hand on her shoulder. 'Nasuada, there's nothing wrong with you. You have a right to be happy. To enjoy yourself.' He found his eye still devouring her curves, lingering over her moderately sized breasts, on her thick thighs, over every exposed scrap of her body. He blinked, hoping she hadn't noticed.

'But what about you, Eragon... I heard what my messenger said. Four bottles of wine, you want to kill yourself. And don't say your part elf, don't tell me that makes it acceptable. You want to punish yourself, and for what? For what your father did?'

Eragon looked to the ground. 'Yes.'

What happened next surprised them both; she slapped him. The palm of her hand met with his jaw, almost knocking him to the ground. He saw the blow coming at the last moment, and tried to throw a spell in order to lessen it, something that proved ineffective. He staggered for a moment before finding his balance.

'I don't want to hear you say that again, Eragon. If you even think its your fault, what you've done outweighs Morzan's sins a thousandfold.' She softened her voice before continuing. 'Please, Eragon, if you won't stop this behaviour for yourself, do it for me.'

He didn't know what provoked him into it, but Eragon placed a hand on Nasuada's back. He drew her in for a kiss, and was pleasantly surprised when the dark skinned beauty gave no resistance. His lips locked around hers for five, ten, fifteen seconds. At the end of it all he pulled back.

'M'lady... I'm... apologies... I should be going...'

'No,' she said, 'stay with me.'

With that she pulled him in, her tongue entering his mouth, clinging to his frame. It was at this intimacy that Eragon's erection was known to her, as a small poking sensation to her groin. Pulling away for a second, she looked down upon it and smiled.

'Well, it looks like someone down there wants to play. But first, Eragon, we don't want to be disturbed.'

Eragon understood, and focused for the briefest of moments, before uttering words under his breath. The spell took effect; to anyone outside, the tent was silent as the grave.

Now Nasuada placed both hands on the collars of Eragon's shirt, and began to pull it off. He obliged, before she set a hand to his trousers and began to push down. The leader of the Varden was pleasantly surprised to find no undergarments on him, leaving his erection open to the world.

'So, you want to play, little guy? I can't leave you out of this, can I?'

So saying, Nasuada knelt down on one knee, before placing her warm right hand on Eragon's dick. She began to rub along his six inches, setting a slow pace to it. Her left hand went for his ballsack, squeezing it ever so slightly and electing a moan out of Eragon.

'N...n...Nasuada... are you sure... you want to... do this?' Eragon asked between moans.

'I am more than sure, Eragon. There's never been anything I've wanted more.'

Eragon's response was cut out of him as her tongue tapped his cockhead. She began to lick around it, before taking his ballsack in her mouth. Her tongue then went from the sack along the back of his dick once more to its tip. With each of these movements, Eragon moaned, self control forgotten.

Now she took him in her mouth, teasing him with first a single inch before withdrawing. He went back in, this time pushing up against her face. Nasuada took him in; all six inches went down her thoat. It appeared she had done this before. Now he was deep enough for his ballsack to be pressing up against her chin.

He felt himself about to come, and tensed; Nasuada felt it, and withdrew. He reached over to her head, trying to pull her closer, but she pulled back.

'Nope, I'm not finished with you just yet. You know what, I'm ashamed of this little guy, about to go all in without giving me any pleasure in return. But then again, I'm not quite cruel enough to leave you blue balled.' She smirked and took several steps back, lying on the bed.

In a way, Nasuada was proud of herself. As far as she could tell, Eragon had gained elfish stamina along with strength and reflex, and it only took her three minutes to bring him to the verge of release. Some of the Varden prostitutes would take half an hour to get that far with a normal man.

Eragon didn't waste time, and took control. He ripped off her undergarments with a single hand, before doing the same to her bra. He took a few seconds to savour the sight of her.

'Well, my rider, tired already? I've just gotten started.'

Eragon took this as a challenge, slamming into her pussy, before pulling out almost completely. Each time he did this it came as a moan from each; a grunt from Eragon, a prayer from Nasuada. It took four minutes of this before she began to shudder, before screaming his name. Still Eragon did not stop; when he felt he was close to release, he muttered a few words to delay it. Each thrust set a fast pace for the next one to follow.

'Fucking... Eragon... what does it take to get you to come already?' she moaned between thrusts.

'A lot, m'lady,' he replied, smirking.

'Then I think I should speed it up, don't you?'

She clenched her thighs together, holding his cock in, before thrusting up and down in rhythm to his. Now Eragon didn't even bother with spells, launching his seed into her womb. He almost shouted, but kept his voice level. 'NASUADA!'

He collapsed onto the bed, his head directly between her breasts. Now Nasuada spoke.

'Eragon, come to me more often. I didn't realize how much I needed this... but thank you. Whenever you want me, just come to me. But for now, the Nighthawks will be getting suspicious. Put your clothes back on, I will visit you tonight.'

AU: Vote for future pairings. State whether they should be love, lust or rape. Additional details if you find them necessary.


	2. EragonAngela

Chapter 2

Angela

Eragon walked through the crowded markets of Tierm, going through one stall after another, examining whether there was anything worth buying. The shopkeepers usually sold trinkets without a use, fruits and vegetables long gone stale, and similar; the stench of the market may have been why there wasn't a single house within the entire district.

He found himself unintentionally comparing the two; the weekly farmers' market in Carvahall, and this... whatever it was, it was not a market. Garrow would sell fresh wheat, barley and tomatoes within one week of harvest. It would not be left to go stale like these. Teirm traders had to go miles by river to reach the nearest farms, only a few of which were within ten minutes' ride from the docks.

Still, there was a small household that caught his attention. Too small for anyone to live there, obviously only used on market days, the smell of pleasant incense went to war against that of stale fruits and meat. Driven just as much by a desire to get away from the rest of the market as curiosity, Eragon walked towards it.

There was no doorway to speak of, and Eragon could see everything within. Large stacks of herbs, incense and glass spheres lined the tables; aged scrolls covered the walls. Brom had only taught him to write two weeks ago, but he had already grasped the basics; yet was surprised when he realized that the letters on these scrolls were ones he could not understand.

He pulled one down from the rack, before unrolling and examining it. Still nothing he could read; the 'letters' upon it consisted of various shapes mixed together, part of, he suspected, another language. He replaced it and pulled down another, with the same result.

'Can I help you?'

Eragon jumped back as he heard the voice from behind, his back hitting the wall. Scrolls of various sizes began to fall around his head, as he did his best to catch them before they hit the ground. He began mumbling frantic apologies as he reached down to collect them.

'Meh, those things were worthless anyway. I don't think a single man in Tierm could read the Ancient Language; if anything, Galbatorix will have my head for having them. But still, I might find a buyer one of these days. Put them back on the shelves, Eragon.'

'How... how do you know my name?'

He turned to see who it was that spoke to him. A woman, who seemed in her late thirties, but who had continued to bloom rather than wither. She seemed to stand six inches above his height, forcing him to look up to see her eyes. The years had done nothing to her frame, which sent blood rushing to Eragon's groin. Her stomach, lower legs and arms were bare. She wore a skirt, specifically cut to reveal those areas, while suggesting the world about what was beneath the hidden parts of this woman's body.

'Oh, I know lots of things, Eragon. You left your mind too open. I know about Saphira, I know about the Gedwey Ignasia, and I know about the Ra'zak. Probably a lot more than you on all three of those things.'

Eragon felt his rage grow as she mentioned the last of the three names. Ra'zak. Unconsciously, he placed his hand on the hilt of Zar'roc.

'And I know about Morzan's sword.'

Eragon froze. This woman... she had to be from the Empire. That was the only possible explanation, she was here to kill him. He pulled out Zar'roc, before getting ready to run.

'Relax. Do you really think I'm an assassin? That book over there, the one book that's in the common tongue, is Domia Abr Wyrda. Dominance of fate. And I'm sure Brom told you about it; if the Empire knew I had it, I'd be executed. Now put that needle down, before you get someone hurt.'

Eragon sheathed the blade, still not trusting this woman, this witch who could delve into his memories whenever she pleased. 'Who are you?'

'My name is unpronouncable in the common or ancient tongues, but you can call me Angela.' She attempted a mocking bow, and Eragon was startled to find that, when she lowered herself, he could see the exposed upper part of her breasts from the skirt. Still, she appeared not to notice him stare.

'A rider... a rider in my humble store. Well, I do feel honored indeed, especially by the fact that you come in here stinking of the market.'

Eragon responded. 'Doesn't everyone who spends even a few minutes in there stink like this?' In truth, he couldn't wait until he returned to the inn and took a warm bath, no matter wheher or not it used the last of his coin.

'All right, Eragon, I have an offer to make. One I don't usually make to that many people. If you wish it, I could tell you your future.'

The young Rider looked into her eyes to see if this was a joke; but there was steel in them. She was serious about this, and his curiosity was sparked.

'Why not?'

'I had hoped you would say that,' she said, before walking behind her counter, and pulling out a leather pouch. 'These,' spilling the contents on the table, 'are the knucklebones of a dragon. Forget tea leaves and tarot decks, these tell you the real future. Now take a seat.' Eragon took the chair directly across her.

She pulled out the first bone, one chiselled with an oak.

'This is the first time I have ever seen it come up in someone's future. Most of the time it's the aspen or the elm, both signs that a person will live a normal span of years. Whether this means that you will live forever or that you will only have an extraordinarily long life, I'm not sure. Whatever it foretells, you may be sure that many years lie ahead of you.'

'Now the bones grow harder to read, as the rest are in a confused pile. Here the wandering path, lightning bolt, and sailing ship all lie together - a pattern I've never seen, only heard of. The wandering path shows that there are many choices in your future, some of which you face even now. I see great battles raging around you, some of them fought for your sake. I see the mighty powers of this land struggling to control your will and destiny. Countless possible futures await you - all of them filled with blood and conflict - but only one will bring you happiness and peace.

'Beware of losing your way, for you are one of the few who are truly free to choose their own fate. That freedom is a gift, but it is also a responsibility more binding than chains. And yet, as if to counteract that, here is the lightning bolt. It is a terrible omen. There is a doom upon you, but of what sort I know not. Part of it lies in a death - one that rapidly approaches and will cause you much grief. But the rest awaits in a great journey.

'Look closely at this bone. You can see how its end rests on that of the sailing ship. That is impossible to misunderstand. Your fate will be to leave this land forever. Where you will end up I know not but you will never again stand in Alagaësia. This is inescapable. It will come to pass even if you try to avoid it.

'The next bone is easier to read and perhaps a bit more pleasant. Many, perhaps we could say, 'events of a sexual nature' are in your future, as the moon indicates - for that is the magical symbol. Most of them will be short, lasting a single night, other relationships you will carry for weeks or even years. There is one whom you will love through your entire life.'

Eragon thought on that while Angela continued. 'Well, time for my payment.'

'Pa-pa-payment?'

'Did you think this was going to come free?'

'Well...'

'No such thing as a free meal, young man. But then again, you could do me a favor instead.'

He thought on this. 'What kind of favor?'

'Come over to my side and I'll show you.'

Hesitant, Eragon stood up and walked around the counter. What he saw sent blood to his loins; Angela had spread her legs around the chair, exposing a thin pair of panties. He found himself staring at the faint hints of what lay behind them, thick, strong thighs that would squeeze his cock as he entered her. He realized what he was thinking, and shook his head before forcing his eyes back up to her face.

'Keep staring, that's the favor. I've heard legends of the Dragon Riders... shall we say... prowess, both on the field of battle and bed. I guessed that for a handsome boy like you, it wouldn't be your first time, but you seem to have been unlucky in that aspect.'

Eragon blushed as she spoke, but ideas were already creeping into his head. Still, he gave a brief nod of consent, as Angela reached over and pulled down his pants. He wore no undergarments, something considered an unnecessary luxury in Carvahall, and she briefly ran a hand alongside his dick.

Still, Eragon was aching with lust. This time he pushed her back, off the seat and against the floor. She landed on a plush carpet, surprise but no resistance. He placed a hand on her neck, pulled her up, and began to rip off the buttons, careless of damaging the skirt.

It fell off around her, and Eragon gave a grunt of approval when he saw that she lacked a bra. He placed oth hands around her panties and pulled in opposite directions; she gave a moan in pain for a brief second, and they gave way. He threw them across the counter, before preparing to slam into the nude Angela.

It was then that he looked over the counter, at the open door. Or rather, at the complete lack of a door. Angela spoke from the ground. 'The worst that could happen is that someone gets a good show. Do you think they arrest people for fucking in their own homes?' she smirked.

Eragon needed no further motivation. He slammed into her, hard, lust directing him instead of common sense. Each time was a moan from Angela, moans that slowly became louder until they could be heard from outside. He leant over after the first few thrusts, taking a single nipple in his mouth and sucking on it.

He was distinctly aware of several eyes staring at him and Angela from the other side of the counter. Still, he ignored them; he was in too much esctacy to care. Again and again he went in, as more eyes were upon Eragon and the witch.

And Angela screamed, just as Eragon spilled his seed into her. 'ERAGON!' she howled, before opening her eyes to the faces above her, just as Eragon turned to look.

'Enjoyed the show?' she said, climbing to her feet. Each of the six men there stared at her, every one of them with an obvious erection. Eragon hadn't expected to become a man so far from home; he had expected to do so on his wedding day to a sweet village girl, perhaps Katrina if it weren't for Roran. Most certainly not with six sets of eyes upon him fucking a witch a hundred miles from his home.

Eragon pulled his pants back up, before walking towards the door. He turned to see Angela already taking one of them into her mouth, while the others stared enviously. If Eragon got the chance, he would come back here, and damned be privacy if it meant he could get at the witch's curves a second time.


	3. EragonAgaeti-Blodhren

Chapter 3

Agaeti-Blodhren

'Has it begun?' Eragon asked.

Arya responded with a joyous laugh. 'It has begun! Until the werelight on the highest branch dims in three days, we forget our woes and sorrows.'

The branches of the Menoa Tree seemed to reflect the scarlet fire from the torches held beneath it. The night was without wind, but the branches moved of their own accord, as though joining in with the celebrations.

'Eragon.'

He turned to see his mentor, Oromis, call out to him from the edge of the clearing. Walking over to him, he gave the traditional Elfish greeting. 'Atra esterni onu thelduin.'

Instead of returning the greeting, the aged Rider handed him a brooch. 'You have not the mental resistance of an elf, wear this to keep your wits and sanity about you.' Eragon briefly thanked him before being dismissed.

A group of elves in the center of the clearing began to chant. Eragon could pick out individual words that he knew were of the ancient language, but couldn't identify them. They began to beat down on drums with their bare hands, setting a savage pace that seemed to vibrate through the air.

The elves began to move. He had seen an Elfish dance before, but this was nothing like it; this was as savage as the drumbeats, a wild, barely controlled chaos within the clearing. An elf woman grasped his hands and pulled him into a dance, showing no restraint in dragging him when he couldn't keep pace. The scar on his back ached, but for once he didn't feel the pain.

The two of them danced for a few seconds, Eragon barely keeping his balance, until she changed the focus of her weight and threw him to another elf woman. He could vaguely recognize her as the Lady Loria, who held the same pacing.

She reached in, her face close to his; after that, he wondered why he could taste cherry on his lips. Perhaps Oromis's brooches weren't quite as effective as he had hoped; but still, this was a madness he was hapy to be lost in.

He could vaguely feel Saphira in his mind, flying directly above the Menoa Tree, partaking in the same insanity. Loria let go of his hands, and Eragon swapped partners once again. He could distinctly see several sets of glowing yellow eyes in the trees; either elves who had taken the shapes of animals, or animals who came to partake in the celebration.

And then the elves came. Elves from within Du Weldenvarden, those who had changed their shapes to pursue a different ideal of beauty. There were elves who wore fur or feathers; elves with glowing red or yellow eyes. Two elf women with bright skin walked up to him; when they spoke, he could see gills on the sides of their necks. One elf was covered in black dragon scales, dark smoke emitting from his nostrils.

He didn't know how long he danced like that. All he knew was that he was unable to count the passage of time; perhaps an hour, perhaps a day. But when he looked up, the werelight was two thirds dimmed. The third day.

Now something happened, something he had not expected. It started from one corner of the clearing, a few meters from him, and from there it spread. An elf man covered in fur pulled off the clothes of the woman he danced with, who enthusiastically slipped free of them, before doing the same to him.

Perhaps it was the spells the chanters had woven, but it seemed as though all emotions were enhanced. Eragon felt an erection as he watched the wolf-elf take his partner from behind; then looked around to see his act being repeated by all who celebrated.

Acting more on instinct than logic, he pulled the nearest woman towards him, unsheathing Zar'roc and using the blade to cut her blouse free. Another elf had been about to make a move; but, upon seeing Eragon claim her, he had chosen another.

He hadn't taken time to examine her, and was only mildly surprised when he saw yellow reptile eyes, sharp teeth and claws. There was no way that mouth was going anywhere near his cock, he thought.

The woman took hold of his pants, and cut through them. They fell apart, leaving his lower half completely nude. She smiled, before doing the same to his shirt. Now Eragon pushed her onto the grass, before rolling her over with one foot.

Now he pulled up her skirt, delighted to find no sign of panties. Instead, her bare buttocks seemed more than inviting. He went into them, slowly, nervously; this was the first time he had defiled that particular hole, and found it exceptionally tight. The elf woman gave moans of pain, but they served only to encourage her lover.

Eragon picked up the pace, until he was in tune with the drumming. He fucked her rear, a savage tempo that led to a thrust on her ass for every beat from a chanter. Both his hands were upon her back, placing her entire body weight on her breasts, pushing down with all his weight.

He came, and muttered an improvised spell. Once again he was hard; he withdrew from her ass, then stood up, not caring whether he was standing on an elf or not. She tried to get up, and he jumped off, before seeking out another.

A sight distracted him, as it had distracted many others. He saw Glaedr, golden scales a deep crimson with the torchlight, standing atop another dragon two thirds his height. Saphira roared, but Eragon opened their mental link to sense waves of unrefined pleasure flowing into her. He couldn't see it while Glaedr's leg was blocking the view, but he knew what was happening.

Smiling, he sent her a message. 'Feel free to enjoy yourself.'

'Oh? And I don't suppose you've been very restrained this night?' she responded, before returning to Glaedr.

Eragon chuckled, before finding another woman. Now it was one of those watching Saphira. An elf with silver hair that caught the torchlight, turning patches of it into a deep bronze. One of her hands was down to her groin, apparently turned on by the two dragons. There was a small wet patch on her crotch, which she kept absent-mindedly stroking.

He walked behind her and slipped a hand next to hers on her groin, while whispering a spell under his breath. Now she was more than turned on; she didn't even flinch at this stranger preparing to fuck her.

Saphira's words went into him; he would try to show some restraint this time. He pulled up her skirt and slipped his cock between her body and panties, before slowly rubbing against her pussy, not yet sinking in. She whispered something that sounded oddly like a plea.

'What was that?' Eragon replied, leaning in.

'In.'

He complied, and began to sink in, surprised by the presence of a hymen. This elf, despite her appearance, hadn't been taken her entire life. Now he placed one hand around her neck to hold her still, and another down her shirt, exploring her breasts, tweaking a single nipple between thumb and forefinger.

His pace was slow, a polar opposite to that of the drums, savoring every moment. Every groan of pleasure from this silver haired elf in being the first to deflower her. The hymen snapped as he broke through; for a moment gasps of pleasure went into gasps of pain, then to pleasure again. Then, just as suddenly, he came for the second time that day.

This process was repeated again and again. The dance was renewed, but now it was a dance of thrashing bodies bridged by the male's manhood. After each impregnation, partners would be swapped. He tried to remember how many women there had been with him that night... Six? Twelve? Twenty?

Soon, his restraint had failed him. He remembered the tight coils of the elf with serpent's eyes, the slippery skin of the young woman with fish's gills, the rough lovemaking of the wolf-woman, Rhunon's gentle, hesitant sex. He could barely keep track of them all. But it was the last two who stayed in his memory.

One of the women he was with mentioned something about twins. Iduna and Neya, she called them, between moans.

Another few hours went by, another uncounted number of women. But just as suddenly, it stopped. The women, even the one whose asshole he was defiling, pulled away as one, as did the men. Eragon stumbled for a moment, before remembering the elf's words. These twins, he had read of them in Oromis's works, twins who were, for the past five hundred years, ambassadors for the dragons.

They walked in robed in silk. Silk so thin, one could see through it. Could see their identical small breasts, their nipples perked in the cold, hints at what lay behind the slightly thicker cloth at their groins.

As one, the two elves threw off the robes, standing naked in front of them all. The drumming stopped. And Eragon saw something he hadn't noticed through the cloth; a shining red dragon tattoo. Its tale wrapped around Iduna's back, travelling across her breasts; it then travelled across Neya's front, its head resting upon her shoulder.

As one, the twins brought their right feet down. Thud.

And again. Thud.

A third time. Thud.

The tattoo opened its eyes. At first Eragon thought it to be a trick of the light, but no, it was real. It began to circle around on their bodies; the twins did a wild, savage dance as the drums started once more. The dragon leapt from one arm to the next, its wings covering them entirely. And Eragon sensed something. As though it was calling to him.

Hesitantly, he walked towards them. The elves stepped aside to let him past; the twins seemed to be expecting it, and stepped aside to let him stand between them.

The dragon now went across him as much as the ambassadors. Iduna then spoke to him.

'Link us, let the Dragon fly free.' When Eragon showed no sign of understanding, she grasped his cock, and began pulling it towards her pussy.

He understood now, and took control. He slammed in as the dragon went from his shoulders, through his manhood, onto Iduna. From there, Iduna's other hand was upon Neia's sex; the dragon now passed onto her. From there, Neia held a strong grip on his left shoulder. And so the apparition circled through the three of them.

And its wings broke free of their skin. Soon, only its tail was still connected to Iduna. The creature landed upon Eragon's shoulders; he flinched, but tried to remain calm.

'Our gift to you.' He heard the voice, and knew it came from the dragon upon his shoulders. Then the world went black.

AU: Getting reviews from all over the planet. Thanks to the one person who viewed me on Argentina, Kenya, and the psychopath responsible for 50 of my 500 views by refreshing this fifty times from Mongolia.


	4. JarshaLorana

AU: I'm still wondering why I chose these two out of literally thousands of pairings I could have done. And Oh Mah Gawd, three days and SEVEN HUNDRED views? Although I got just one review in that number (and yes, either Chapter 5 or Chapter 6 will be Arya, dear reviewer), I am still amazed at the number.

Chapter 4

Jarsha/Lorana

Every day he ran. Some lord wanted a message given to another; some ambassador wished to announce his presence; some general had him find and give the order to his men. And Jarsha put up with it. He had put up with it for five years, since he was eight years old. And it wasn't as if there was anything else he could do for the Varden.

He had been sent this morning to the city of Feinster, two hours ride from where the Varden were currently camped. Nasuada wished to know whether the Lady Lorana had been made to swear the same oaths as the other lords, and whether she would submit peacefully. So Jarsha had been sent; the leader of the Varden had some sense in that, at least. Empire soldiers would not think to stop and question a child of thirteen years.

Nasuada. For the past two years he had thought about her. Three years under her service to provide him a steady meal and a place in the Varden, and she had always been his employer, nothing more. To say he had thought about her wouldn't be correct; it would be that he had thought differently about her.

Each time he struggled to hide the bulge between his legs; sometimes he was afraid she saw it. The olive skinned boy recalled her appearance this morning, after being sent to inform her of a raid by Feinster's soldiers on the supply caravans. Her maid, Farica, had been in the process of dressing her; he had tried to step out of the room, embarrassed, but she had called him back in, before giving him his current task.

The sun reached midday when the walls of Feinster were in sight. Jarsha had stopped to rest his horse several times on the route, taking side roads to avoid Empire patrols. This lengthened the journey to almost three hours, but he didn't care; a late message was better than none.

So he arrived at the gates of Feinster, holding Nasuada's personal seal, and praying he wasn't about to be turned into a human pincushion.

A shout rang from the battlements above him. 'Varden messenger!'

The gates creaked open, and he rode the horse through. Now there were a dozen soldiers, each with their swords aimed at his throat. His age wasn't much protection, then. One of them placed a hand on his knife, then ripped it off, sheath and all. Another grasped the letter, before going through it.

'You can tell your usurper,' he said, scorn in every word, 'that the Lady Lorana will not betray her rightful king. And tell her to send someone important next time, not some bastard boy.' He placed more emphasis on the last word than second to last.

Jarsha responded. He didn't know what motivated him; with a dozen swords angled at his throat, it would have been safest to just leave when he had the chance. But he didn't. They could insult her, but they couldn't insult Nasuada. 'I am no bastard. My name is Jarsha Kistrik of the Innipiwani tribe. And you will speak of my queen with more respect.'

He regretted the words as they left his mouth. The soldier's face was now a mess of emotions, surprise, shock and anger above all others. He took the letter with both hands, then ripped it apart.

'Oh, we got ourselves a little savage from the Hadarac. If I didn't know better, 'Queen Nasuada,'' he said, sarcasm ringing in the title, 'sent this brat to insult our dear Lady Lorana. I think we need to teach her a lesson, don't you, lads?'

The rest of the guards nodded. The man raised his sword, and Jarsha leapt off the horse, in an attempt to evade the blow. But it was not targeted at him; the blade went through the animal's eye. The horse thrashed for a moment, then was still.

Jarsha leapt at him, kicking, screeching, angry enough to try and kill this man with just his teeth and nails. The soldier picked him up by the neck, and held him at arm's length, leaving the olive skinned messenger to thrash in his grip, trying to break free.

'This little desert savage wants to eat me, just like all his savage irk. Just like his Queen. And killing his poor little horse didn't teach him anything. What do you say we teach him a harsher lesson?'

The other soldiers nodded, as Jarsha gasped for air. He then felt himself thrown to the ground; the messenger rolled into a ball to reduce the impact before a boot struck him in the stomach.

'We, little savage, are loyal only to the Lady Lorana and the Rightful King Galbatorix. And it seems like we need to make an example of you.' His foot came down again and again and again. Jarsha screamed each time it hit, but eventually passed out.

'Now, pull off his pants.'

The soldiers looked doubtful, taking a step back.

'I'm your sergeant, and if you don't pull off the brat's pants, expect execution for each and every one of you.'

They pulled them off; Jarsha no longer had the strength to resist. He couldn't think of what was about to happen.

'WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?'

The voice rang out from behind the sergeant. Each of the soldiers turned, then took several steps towards the gate, afraid. Jarsha opened one eye; he could just about recognize the Lady Lorana.

'He's a messenger for the rebels, m'lady. He deserves this.' The sergeant spoke with venom at teh word 'rebels', as though it was too undignified to call them 'varden.'

'So you tear his message without relaying it to me, kill his horse, then try to rape him? Guards, execute him and all those who obeyed his order to rape the messenger.'

Soldiers streamed from the battlements; four dozen of them. The sergeant began to scream.

'You can't do this to me! I am the only fucking thing keeping those rebels from raping and killing every man, woman and child in Feinster! They deserve it! I was only giving them what they deserved!'

Two guards walked up to him, and he pulled out his sword. 'If I can't die defending my Lady, I can die putting my sword in her traitorous heart.'

He ran forth, but Jarsha wrapped his arms around the sergeant's leg. He tripped, stumbled, and dropped the sword. Now two guards walked up to him, one of them with a spear he buried in the sergeant's neck.

'Escort the others to their cells, give them their trials.' The guards did so, two of them grasping Jarsha by the arm. 'No,' the Lady Lorana called out to them. 'Leave him.'

'But he's a messenger for the Varden. Its his trechery that started this war.'

'Is every single one of my men so fucking stupid?' Jarsha stared; he had never expected someone of the nobility to swear. 'This boy is just that. A messenger. Escort him to my chambers; I would hear what he has to say.'

Jarsha could barely speak at this point. The same two picked him back up, then began to carry him over their shoulders. One of them turned his head, before muttering 'Varden scum' and deliberately slamming him into a wall. Every bump was a burst of pain to him; and the two of them intentionally forced it upon him.

They entered her chambers, but Jarsha barely took notice. All he felt was tiredness, all he saw was a single, lush four poster bed in the center of the room. They dropped him on the floor; he tried to crawl towards it.

'Hadarac savage, that bed is for the Lady Lorana. No one else.' So saying, he planted a firm foot on Jarsha's back, pressing him back to the ground.

It was another few minutes before the Lady Lorana walked into the room. He could feel her soft arms on his bruised skin, picking him up, and placing him on the bed. The lift was pain for him; he didn't know how badly they had hurt him, all he knew was that he wanted her to drop him.

She did no such thing. Instead, she gently settled him onto the bed, covering him with the blanket. Sweet unconsciousness beckoned, and once again he passed out.

He awoke wondering where he was. He was supposed to be delivering a message to the Lady Lorana, so why was he here? He should be on his horse, on the long route there... he had last gone through the gate... oh god, the gate. That man was going to rape him. He had been beaten, and passed out...

'How... how long was I out?' he whispered.

'Around two hours. The sergeant had beaten you to the point where I'm surprised you woke up this early.'

He tried to turn his head, and almost screamed in pain.

'Ssssh, don't try to move that much. You were only just healed. Still, your lucky, not one of my healers was willing to do such for one of the Vaden.' Lorana stood directly in front of him, her face in front of his, strands of her long raven hair touching his.

'We caught one of your spies three days ago. He was sentenced to die, nothing I could do about it. I had my guards bring him up here, he was the only one willing to heal you. After that my guards collected the fragments of your message. I let him go to relay it to Nasuada.

'He told me not to examine the wounds until you woke up, said it was part of the magic. So I need to make sure he did it right.'

Jarsha only then realized he was naked. He felt bruises running along his back, his legs, the healer most likely had to remove his clothes in order to reach the wounds under them. His face ran red as he tried to grip the covers over him, but his strength still hadn't returned, unable to resist Lorana as she pulled away the blanket.

Her eyes ran over his body, the stitches in his side, the bruises across his stomach and legs. She occasionally placed a hand on a spot to ask whether it hurt; and, strangely enough, it didn't.

'Well,' she said, checking the bruises on the inside of his legs, 'he healed the broken bones, at least. The bruises themselves will fade, given enough time.' Now her hand pressed on a bruise right between his legs, directly below his ballsack; her gentle fingers brushed against his cock and he failed in keeping it limp.

'Did I make you uncomfortable?' she said, seeing the erection she caused. Still, Lorana couldn't help but stare. She had been widowed five years past, but was in no way withering; instead, her form had continued to bloom, her breasts refusing to sag. It was this form that invited suitors, dozens of them, but she knew that inviting them into her bed would be bringing them into her life. So she had refrained from temptation.

By Galbatorix's laws, sex would have to lead to marriage. But this was a boy not yet a man, not yet old enough to marry. Five years, and each day the temptation, the lust was stronger. She had to satisfy it somehow.

'Listen, Jarsha, do you know what sex is?' The blush on his face was more than enough of an answer. 'All right, I know that at your age, if given the chance, you would take it. I'm giving you the chance. But you can not tell anyone.'

'I promise,' he said.

'No. Say these exact words.' And she told him of a spell, one that would bind his silence of what was going to happen. He repeated it, to her satisfaction.

Now the Lady Lorana placed a hand on his cock. It was three and a half inches, small by an adult's standards, but still, it was the only sex she could have without marriage. Five years, and she hadn't done this. So she showed no restraint.

She leaned her head over, taking the entire rod in her mouth. Pushing slightly further, his ballsack went in with the rest, leading to moan after moan. The guards outside would suspect what was happening, but without proof, what could they say?

She pulled out after half a minute. Now it took a single unbuttoning to release the top half of her dress, exposing generous breasts that seemed decades away from sagging. They were covered with a bra the perfect size; she had never been shy about showing her body, so had allowed the bra-makers direct access for measurements. They always left the room with more than an erection.

And so it was for Jarsha. He pulled himself out of the bed, ignoring the pain, and grasped her bra with both hands. He began to pull, but she took his hand with her own and guided it to a button on the back, which he removed.

Now she stood up, and pulled off the bottom portion of her clothing. Standing naked in all her glory, she looked at Jarsha's lust within his eyes and smiled.

Now the pushed the boy back onto the bed, and slowly sank onto his penis. He began to thrust upwards, despite the pain in his back, and dropped back down in sync to hers. Her cunt was slim, perfect for his size; another motivator for her celebacy was simple fear that larger cocks would break her.

Jarsha was surprised at how long he lasted. Lorana moaned as he thrust into her, while the messenger managed to keep himself to an occasional grunt. Still, he wondered how he had gotten here. A messenger for the Varden, a nothing, found his way into the bed and cunt of the Lady of Feinster. He was fucking Lady Lorana. He still couldn't believe it.

They came as one. Jarsha gasped her name, just as she shook in ecstacy. Now she leaned over to his face, her breasts pushing at his chest.

'Queen Nasuada has begun the Siege of Feinster, Eragon Shadeslayer is with her. I think it would be safest if you stayed here and out of the battle to keep me company for the next few hours.'

Jarsha smiled at the implications. 'Will keeping you company mean keeping my cock and your hole company as well?'

'Why, did you truly think I would leave them out?'

She took him in her mouth a second time. Jarsha continued to groan as hands began thumping on the door. 'Open up, Lady! The Varden are attacking!'

She raised her head from his cock, before speaking to him. 'Traitors, Galbatorix's pet sorcerers. I caught them scheming to conjure a Shade when the Varden break through, but I had the spy ward my doors. They can't get in.'

Jarsha didn't wait to hear anything else she was saying; instead, he grasped her head and pulled her onto his groin.

AU: I know I already put an author's note at the beginning, but I need some idea for Chapter 5. Vote among the following:

-Eragon and Trianna. She tries to seduce him, he takes advantage of it.

-Eragon and Arya. As a reviewer suggested, she rejects him multiple times, and he rapes her.

-Eragon and Katrina. Roran decides to stay in Helgrind to kill the last of the Ra'zak, Eragon and Katrina fly off, storm hits, and they are briefly stranded in a cave. They pass the time with you-know-what.


	5. EragonTrianna

AU: Five thousand views? I believe I already said Oh Mah Gawd last chapter, but what the hell, OH MAH GAWD. Also, I recieved quite a few complaints when I stated that Arya may be raped; this was a reader's suggestion, I repeat, a reader's suggestion. Sorry this chapter took so long; expect very long breaks between chapters. Then again, there have been so many Erarya lemons, so I might completely skip that one. Also, these lemons may not always be connected; for example, I may discard what happens in one for the sake of another.

Chapter 5

Eragon/Trianna

The bed was a lush four poster, with a mattress seven inches thick, stuffed with feathers. The blanket was one made from the softest Feldunost wool, and the stool polished Mahogany from Du Weldenvarden. But Eragon Shadeslayer took no notice of any of this, struggling to remain on his feet as he walked in.

One hand gripped the table, before he finally gave up the struggle and fell upon the bed. His eyes fell shut, though not to the point of sleep, as his mind rehearsed the day's events. Ajihad's funeral, that of Murtagh, the election of Nasuada, each of these events had weighed him down until all Eragon wanted was to sleep.

Still, had he made the right decision? Nasuada was young, and inexperienced, and he had placed her as the leader of one of the few forces able to resist Galbatorix. Worse than that, he had pledged his loyalty to her in the ancient language. For all he knew, those words were the Varden's execution warrent.

She had already begun the process to mobilise the army, with full knowledge that the Rider would not be able to escort it. Even Ajihad would have the sense to at least ask him to remain; but she gave him permission to leave for Du Weldenvarden anyway. This showed one of two things, depending on the viewpoint. Enlightenment, for realizing the need, or stupidity, for ignoring the consequences.

Ajihad. Thinking of his daughter brought to mind the aged leader of the Varden, who had fallen to Urgals mere days earlier. But his sorrow went out to Murtagh, the son of Morzan, killed in the same ambush.

No, not killed, stolen. They hadn't found a body, had they? Perhaps they were traveling in complete darkness, explaining why he couldn't be scried. Or they warded him against scrying. He refused to think on the alternative; that Murtagh Morzansson was no more.

He reached out with his mind to the Dragonhold, probing the consciousness of his dragon. Saphira was in a similar state, though not from Murtagh's death; the acts of his father prevented her from seeing beneath his legacy, though not bringing her to outright hatred. It was the blame, which they both felt cast upon them. Very few of the dwarves had been there when Isidar Mithrim shattered; but guesses were made at shards of chrystal lodged in the dragon's armor.

'It's not your fault,' he tried to speak.

'According to our Dwarven friends, that doesn't seem to be making the smallest amount of difference.' Her reply stung, all the more because she was justified. Every word leaked with buried anger; something which surprised Eragon. At first, it seemed like depression. But it was something more dangerous than that.

'Saphira, they weren't there. They have no right to blame you.' He chose his words carefully, fully aware of how far she could carry anger, and what she could do with it. If he didn't take it off her, the next dwarf to bring her food would become her meal.

She sighed, and Eragon could feel the rage slowly fading away. Still, parts of it still remained to fuel her next words. 'Your words don't take the blame.'

'They could.' An idea formed in his mind.

'How?' She was genuinely curious, and, it seemed, slightly hopeful.

'Hrothgar will announce it when I inform him. We could repair Isildar Mithrim.'

He had stepped beyond safe waters, and was ready for her to lash out at him. But Saphira did not; and the last of her rage faded as the implications were considered. Her name would no longer be cursed; it would be praised as the restorer of the Star Rose.

Now he felt her barriers open as, for the first time that day, she relieved the defenses set around her mind. And she spoke to him.

'There is someone coming towards your quarters, Little One.'

'Who?' Now, he was curious. Could it be Nasuada, coming to state her argument against him leaving for Du Weldenvarden? Or Arya, coming to collect him for the journey.

'The Sorceress, Trianna. Should I allow her to enter?'

'Why not? I think I know why she is here.' It was more of a suspicion, but still, he could turn this to his favor. 'Just don't interrupt; this will just be a bit of enjoyment on my part, then do what you like to her.'

Now he crawled off the bed, before pulling on a shirt. Straightening the blanket, and tidying what was on the tables, before pushing shut the wardrobe, he leaned with one hand on the wall, waiting. He did not have to wait long; Trianna didn't even bother to knock.

The Sorceress stepped in, deliberately lingering at the door to give Eragon a chance to examine her. She wore what appeared to be silk dyed a transparent purple, a sign of wealth; silk that left her stomach and lower legs bare. It seemed to deliberately expose the top halves of her breasts, both of which, if not oversized, were most certainly generous. Possibly the result of magic.

Both her arms were bare, almost to the shoulder, dextrous fingers moving towards him. There was a bracelet on her left wrist, in the shape of a snake, one that caught the light and cast it upon her face.

Within a few seconds, she was standing directly in front of him, her right hand gripping his. Eragon stood a few inches taller, but she still raised her head to look him directly in the eye. Now her fingers moved closer to his crotch.

'Shadeslayer.' she said, almost a whisper. 'It has occured to me that the attack which took Ajihad also removed the leaders of Du Vrangr Gata from our organisation.' It baffled him to think how she could be so businesslike when trying to seduce him. 'So I have a proposition for you.'

Was she really this direct? Still, he stayed quiet and let her continue, trying to keep his hands from reaching for her.

'Who better to lead the Varden's Magi than the greatest of us all? You will be in a position of greater power, you will have absolute authority over any magic user, and...' she brought her lips to his ear, giving it a gentle kiss, her voice turning seductive. 'You can do whatever you want to me.'

'Whatever I want?' He had expected this, but not so directly.

'Whatever you want. Wherever you want. Whenever you want.' This time she said it in the ancient language; a bind that held her to it.

He took her up on that offer, placing both his hands on her shoulders and pushing down. The sorceress complied, getting on her knees, before he pulled out his manhood, allowing its full six inches to taste fresh air.

Now his hands gripped the back of her head, and pushed it towards him. She obliged, opening her mouth and letting him in. Trianna went slowly at first, only letting a few inches in at a time before pulling back to the head, but eventually Eragon became impatient. He thrust further in, five inches of six within the sorceress.

Still, she showed no sign of gagging. This was a woman who had done this many times before; it would not surprise him to learn she reached her position by granting similar 'favors' to those of higher authority. He pushed further, reaching the back of her throat, half an inch still left out. His balls pushed against her chin.

Finally, in a drawn out moan, he came, spilling his seed into Trianna's mouth. She took it in without hesitation, taking a few seconds to swallow. Eragon removed his dick, but the sorceress wasn't done yet, placing a single hand on his ballsack, rubbing the area behind.

She lowered herself so it hung above her mouth, then allowed her tongue to flicker where she was rubbing. Eragon groaned as she ran it along the underside of his rod, sending another rush of blood towards it. Within a few seconds, he had hardened again, to the point of grasping Trianna's head and trying to push back in.

'Shadeslayer,' she spoke, leaning back, 'a woman is not simply pleasurable for her mouth... come onto the bed, allow me to show you.' So saying, Trianna stood up, before holding Eragon's wrist and offering a gentle tug on his sleeve.

She was trying to manipulate him, Eragon realized. So he decided to assert himself; taking his wrist back, his right arm gripped her neck, and began to pull, rather than tug. He could detect surprise, and anxiety, from the sorceress; this wasn't how she had expected things to turn out. Still, Trianna told herself, this situation could be salvaged.

Trianna stepped onto the bed, still standing, and removed a single button on the back of her upper clothing. It fell off at once, exposing half her body; but the Rider wanted more, and Trianna knew it. Slowly, but without hesitation, as though to stretch the moment, her hand went to a piece at her skirt, before teasing it open and allowing that to fall onto the mattress as well.

Trianna lay a hand on her thigh, transfering it from one to the other with a brief stroke of the groin. She could sense Eragon's self retraint struggling, and smirked at the thought. The great Eragon Shadeslayer could be controlled by something as simple as the promise of a woman's pussy.

Still, Eragon restrained himself. First, he pulled off his shirt, discarding it to a corner in the room, before doing the same for his trousers. That was the limit; control forgotten, he leapt upon the bed, placing both hands on Trianna's shoulders.

Trianna placed a hand to his manhood, attempting to guide it, but he shrugged it off. Surprise turned to confusion on her face as his hands spun her around and pushed her to the ground, exposing her bare rear and leaving the sorceress on her knees. This was something she had prepared for, but had hoped to be able to avoid; and so she repeated a phrase in her mind, like a mantra, over and over again. Sacrifices have to be made. Sacrifices have to be made. Sacrifices have to be made.

That didn't make her any less nervous when she felt Eragon's dick rubbing against her arse. His hands pushed her buttocks aside, exposing her asshole. He briefly licked his lips, before preparing to push in.

She bit down on suppressed pain as he entered her virgin asshole. He went slowly, as though wondering whether it would fit, before establishing a beat, one which at first allowed only a few inches, but soon had his thighs ramming her buttocks as all six inches went in. Her agony went into a perverse union of pain and pleasure; her moans were now audable, partway between the two spectrums.

Eragon, meanwhile, tried to hold his silence, wondering how this had happened. The Eragon of one year earlier would be forced to confine sex, never mind with a seductive sorceress, to the corners of imagination until his wedding day. Then came the women he met on his travels; a fortune teller who requested his body as payment, a cheap whore he had bedded with two bronze coins in Dras-leona, a grateful woman whom he had saved from the slaver Torkenbrand...

And he wondered why he had never tried this particular hole. Certainly it was tighter, and more pleasurable, but with the others, it had been defiling them. But Trianna came to him and came to his bed, intent on using him as a ladder to power. He felt little remorse for what he was doing, even less upon sensing the pleasure she hid within her moans of pain.

He didn't know how long passed until he felt release. He let it through, releasing his seed into her rear. Trianna tried to pull out, but Eragon held her to him, both hands on her breasts, keeping her still.

Even when his seed was spent, Eragon did not let go. He remained in Trianna's rear, not yet pulling out, not letting her pull away. It was then that he realized, with a flush of red to his cheeks; he had forgotten to block Saphira.

'Enjoyed yourself, Little One?' The voice reverberated in Eragon's mind, and, if it were even possible, he turned a deeper shade of red. 'Don't worry, as long as the sorceress doesn't open her mouth, no one will know.'

'Saphira... privacy during this moment, please?'

He heard, or rather felt, a chuckle of amusement. 'You promised that when you were done, I could do what I wanted to her. And I have needs of my own, you know. Send her up to the Dragonhold.' He tried to delve deeper into her mind, only to find a mental wall; but, seconds before she placed it up, he could feel lust.

Now he let go of Trianna, allowing her to pull away. This had not gone to plan; Eragon hadn't accepted the position at Du Vrangr Gata. She had been fucked in both mouth and ass. The best thing she could do was leave with as much dignity as she could, hoping Eragon would not notice, would not notice the oath, would not notice the oath, would not notice the oath...

Her hopes died at his next words. 'Trianna, what was your oath again? 'Whatever I want, wherever I want, whenever I want?' You swore more than you thought I heard. That covers everything I want, and as you only have my word for what I want, you will ascend to the Dragonhold, fulfill every one of Saphira's commands, and then return to me.'

Perhaps... perhaps she could make the best of this, bear with it until Eragon goes to Du Weldenvarden. Unless he takes her with him, she could be free and then escape the Varden, escape the oath. The sorceress bent over to pick up her blouse.

'Leave it; you will only wear what I instruct you to wear, and in this instance, you are to wear nothing.' Eragon felt satisfaction, if perverse, at the control he had gained, as Trianna walked towards the door. He had fucked more than a few women in his days at the Varden, most of whom were more than eager for a Rider to take them. Still, this was the one he had most enjoyed. Perhaps he could bring her with him to Du Weldenvarden.

**AU: A few of you may have noticed that I deleted the original version of this chapter, re-uploading this version a few hours later. The reasons for this are that one, the original was of terrible quality, and two, it was too close to non-consent (I know that sounds odd when I stated that I would write one with Arya being raped), but it didn't seem to fit in; seduction and rape don't really go together in a lemon.**

**Vote for next character and scenario, excluding Eragon/Arya, Eragon/Katrina and Eragon/Islanzadi. I will eventually attempt those, but once those pairings are done, I am out of ideas. It doesn't have to be Eragon; any male from the Inheritance Cycle with any female, no matter how obscure. No OCs.**


	6. EragonElva

AU: To those of you who say that what's happening to Trianna is slavery, 1 - this is just a lemon, don't take it seriously. And 2, look at the character arc of Daenerys Targaryen (Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones). Almost the same situation, minus her making the first move, and with different names. In a PUBLISHED WORK OF FICTION. Also minus being forced to walk in her birthday suit everywhere, but then again, there is a scene in the books that shows Daenerys and Drogo, 'ahem,' doing it, with the entire Khalasar watching. And to those of you who call me sick for choosing Elva, I know that she is only two years old, but she grows faster due to the curse; lets say she's physically fourteen in this story.

Chapter 6, Eragon/Elva

'Eragon, are you sure you want to do this?'

Nasuada leaned on one arm upon the bed, still considering the consequences of what she had just heard. While still inside her, his mouth around hers, Eragon had asked permission to lift the curse placed upon Elva. The Varden queen had delayed the question until they were finished, but there was no-where to flee.

'Yes, m'lady. I need to make ammends.'

She had to evade the question, and so tugged gently at her robes. 'If you wish, we could forget our worries for another few minutes.'

Still, it was hopeless to avoid it; Eragon could sense she was trying, but could not tell why. 'Nasuada,' he began, 'why are you against me lifting the curse? I'm trying to save a child from a life of pain.'

'She...' it sounded selfish no matter how many times she rehearsed it. The moment Eragon mentioned the child, she forgot the act she was within; her moans gave way to thoughts, how could Nasuada convince him? Still, she had to try.

'She has a gift, Eragon. A gift that could prove more than useful to the Varden. Think about it; she feels any pain, and can track the man suffering it. She can feel it in advance; she can predict battles, assassination attempts, anything.'

'Listen,' Eragon replied, 'Elva is a child. And all this is going to do is get her killed; she either gets in the way of a sword, or she throws herself from a tower to stop the pain. Do you want that on your conscience? Better to end it now than see what could happen. And even if she didn't die, do you think that, after learning you stopped her from being cured, she would help the Varden?'

'How... how would she find out?'

'Because I would tell her.' There was a grim sinceirity to Eragon's words, and she knew he wasn't lying.

'All right, Eragon, cure her. The Varden managed a full century without; we can manage. Now come back to bed, Elva can wait a few more minutes.'

He obliged, with more enthusiasm than Nasuada expected; he had come mere minutes before. Still, she could already feel a bulge between his legs. Most likely one of the elf gifts, or some spell, she decided. Still, why complain?

Two hours later, Eragon Shadeslayer stood within his tent, waiting for Elva to arrive. He had tried to furnish it as best he could, placing several silk-soft pillows, a red that matched the dwelling's color. A tapestry hung on one wall, which displayed the images of several hunting maidens and a wild boar.

The tent flap parted, allowing in sunlight and a visitor, but it was neither Elva, nor her guardian, Angela. A woman of black hair and blue eyes, one lacking in clothing and tired of frame. Trianna the Sorceress, still bound by her oaths, had re-entered the tent after several hours with Saphira.

She had been taken with him to Du Weldenvarden, and was there when alliances were forged with the dwarves. At first, there had been reluctance, but the sorceress had adapted, and made light of her situation. She still led Du Vrangr Gata; if anything, in the past few months, the order's, and thereby her, position within the Varden had risen once they had recruited the healers and battlemages.

Still, she was still under oath; and those oaths had taken her dignity, if not her power. Eragon would ride her once or more each day, sometimes on dragonback; and, when that was done, Saphira would call for her, leading to a more degrading task. That of pleasuring the great beast, whose moans echoed throughout the encampment as roars.

Sighing, she walked towards Eragon, before leaning over. Since his transformation, he had been able to go far longer before coming; and, while Trianna would deny it, a part of her relished their sessions, even enjoyed Saphira's. That part didn't seem to be the logical part, then; that was only brought into use when governing Du Vrangr Gata.

'Not today, Tri,' Eragon spoke. He had taken to shortening her name, as if to put her more at ease. 'I've got visitors coming; have a day off. Still, no clothes.' Trianna sighed in relief; a few months ago, she would have never abided by the last three words. Still, by now she had managed to ignore the eyes of the Varden upon her whenever she walked near others.

Eragon waited until she had stepped outside before he let out a sigh of relief; he thought Saphira would have kept her longer. Elva may have been in the body and voice of a teenager, but she was only two years old in truth; he didn't want to expose her to sex at that age.

He grasped the scroll in his left hand, before abruptly shoving it beneath a cushion. A last resort, if all else fails. A few seconds later, the tent flap swung open.

He had expected one of Elva's guardians, either Angela or Greta, to accompany her, but she entered on her own. Eragon hid his surprise at her growth; when he last saw the witch-child, hours before he entered the Burning Plains, she had been in the body of an eight year old. To him, months had passed; to her body, six years.

Still, in the brief moment the tent was open, he glimpsed Trianna several meters behind her, walking away, and groaned. He had sent her away to protect Elva; and it worked for nothing whatsoever. So Eragon tried to divert the topic, muttering a few words to hide the blush which erupted on his face.

'Elva,' he said, 'one year ago, I, through misuse of the Ancient Language, cursed you to a life of pain and suffering. Now I request your blessing to remove the curse.'

Elva had always been quiet and reserved, but the joy on her face was unmistakable.

'Do... you do mean it? Your going to get rid of it?'

'Yes. I can recall the words I used, and know how to undo their effects. If you would sit here,' he said, pointing to a cushion directly in front of him.

Elva seemed as if she could barely hold herself still. 'Start,' she said.

Eragon nodded. 'Say nothing during the ritual; I need utmost focus to do this.'

He closed his eyes, and spoke the first word. 'Skolr...' He cast spell after spell, each of which altered the original in the most subtle of ways. He tried to remove the compulsion, dull her sense of pain; he worked at the roots of his spell, trying to find where the primary issue was. He prepared to speak the words, but stopped at a realization.

'Elva,' he spoke, 'it won't work.'

The despair on her face, the anguish, was enough to wrench his heart. I made this girl, he thought. I made her what she is now, and there was no way he could atone for this. Still, he could not bear to see that expression. 'There is a way, but your not going to like it.'

'Anything, anything to stop the pain.'

'All right.' He pulled out the scroll. 'This was something Angela gave me when she heard what I was planning. A way to remove a curse without the expense of energy. I would do it normally, but it would sap every drop of energy from my body, then from Saphira's. We would both die, and the spell would continue to take from anything around you. It would be a hundred dead before the curse is lifted.'

'All right, what does the scroll say?'

He gulped upon opening it; was this truly necessary? Yes, he told himself, it was. 'Sexual removal of magical afflictions,' he spoke, reading out the title. 'The standard removal of a spell or curse is to reverse the wording within one week of their infliction. After that time, it will begin to store energy in small amounts from its host, requiring an equal amount to remove it.

'An unwanted spell that is left for more than one month will require the total energy of a single living human, as a rough estimation. Each additional week and the drain is greater; by one year, two dozen mens' worth of energy will need to be extinguished in order to cut the spell loose.'

Eragon realized the mistake he had been about to make. One more word, and the curse would have started draining from anything in its proximity, including Elva; he felt sick thinking of what would have happened. It would have been a slow disease, or mistaken for one, at first, until she and those around her collapsed, dead. Then this was necessary. There was no alternative.

'An alternate method of removing a curse is to implant an overwriting spell, but, with any contradictions between the two, the host would be completely drained of energy and killed in a matter of seconds. The only remaining method,' Eragon spoke, trying to hold his voice level, 'will completely remove the existing curse with no ill effects.'

'Well?' Elva spoke, her voice rising. 'What is it?'

'The third method,' Eragon spoke, 'requires sexual intercourse.'

He waited for the shock on Elva's face, but none came. Still, he could hear it behind her calm voice. 'If we attempt this... method... the pain will stop?'

'Yes. According to Angela, it requires both of us to be brought to, well, climax, for it to work. And, well, she says it isn't permenant. This needs to happen every single day; and each time it only pushes the curse back for another day.'

Elva thought for a moment. If she felt embarrassed, or nervous, or even aroused, she did a great deal to hide it. 'And there is no other solution?'

'According to Angela, no.'

'Then... when do you want to do it?'

'Now.'

Eragon was more than surprised, and let it leak through his mask of calm for a moment. Still, this was someone who was tortured with pain whenever there was the possibility of harm, to anyone. He owed it to her to fix this. But there was a part of him he would deny; a part of him that took arousal in the situation.

'Have you... have you done this before?'

'Once. One of the messengers, a boy called Jarsha. The pain stopped for a day, but by the time I made the connection, he had been sent to assist another encampment.' She crawled over towards Eragon, placing a hand on his groin.

His dick sprung to life, trying to push out of his pants. Still, Eragon restrained himself. Neither of them spoke a word as he placed her onto the bed, her legs dangling off the side, before lifting her skirt. He nervously pulled down her panties, before Elva grasped them with impatience and pulled them to her ankles.

Eragon waited a moment to step out of them, before placing his head between her legs. He raised his back until it was directly in front of her pussy, before letting his tongue through. He licked the area around, at the top and behind her thighs, and ran his tongue along it, pushing in only a fifth of a centimetre. It only took a few moments of this for him to feel liquid, and, inwardly at least, smiled.

He continued this for a few minutes, his tongue focusing primarily on her clitorus. It was then that he pulled back, and Elva looked wit/ confusion in her eyes. 'Why did you stop?'

'Angela told me it only works if both of us climax. I need to bring myself to that point, then finish with you.'

'Wait,' Elva spoke. Now Eragon was the one confused as she tapped the bed. 'Let me help.'

Eragon crawled onto it while Elva pulled off her shirt, exposing her breasts. They were not too small, and, if she wasn't trying to draw attention, her lack of bra wouldn't have made them too noticeable, but they still tore at Eragon's restraint. Each of them was about the size of his hand; it took what little control remained of him to resist sucking on them.

Now Elva pulled down his trousers, wrapping one of her hands around the base of his shaft. She massaged his ballsack with the other, applying a small amount of pressure to the point directly behind them with her thumb. Her fingers drummed against his cock rather than rubbing it for the first few seconds.

Now she pulled back the foreskin, before applying quick licks beneath it. She then traced her tongue in a spiral from directly above the ballsack to below the head, electing moans from Eragon. Next an inch went into her mouth, turning to two inches, then three, then four. Here, she began to suck, until Eragon found himself on the verge of release. This was where Elva pulled out.

'Before you release, you gotta satisfy me as well,' she said, a smirk to her face. Now pulling up her skirt, the witch-child sat on Eragon's groin, teasing his cock by allowing it to rub against her pussy.

'Elva... are you sure? You can still pull out.'

'Of course I'm sure, Shadeslayer. I can see the look in your eyes; you want me as well. You really gonna complain?'

She gently eased herself onto his manhood, letting only an inch or two in at a time before pulling back. Eragon was surprised to feel no hymen, before remembering what she said about Jarsha. Now she relaxed, letting him sink up to his balls into her pussy. Now she clenched her thighs and started rubbing them together, gently massaging Eragon's cock.

Ten seconds in, and he was already about to come. Perhaps it was selfishness, but Eragon found himself more than enjoying this, and muttered a few words under his breath to delay his climax. He thrust up with each of Elva's downward movements, pulling back when she went up. And so they went, in sync with one another, until he felt the younger woman visibly shudder.

'Eragon...' she moaned, 'sound.' He nodded, understanding, then spoke to silence their tent.

'ERAGON!' She howled into the night, the voice echoing through the tent as a result of Eragon's spell.

She may be finished, but Eragon was not; he placed two hands on her back, pulling Elva close, then rolling over, lifting himself so as to not place all his weight. Now he continued to thrust, leaning in and wrapping his tongue around her left nipple. Each time he felt close to release, he delayed it another moment; and Elva's moans held no complaint within them. And so it went on, minutes upon minutes upon minutes.

She howled his name for the second time that day, and it was then that he decided to stop. He dropped the spell holding his seed within, and let it flow from his body into hers.

Elva raised her head. 'I... I can't feel it. The pain, I can't feel it any more. You said it was temporary... maybe...'

'No matter how much I might want to,' Eragon replied, smirking, 'I can't always be near you. Every day, you need to do this, at least once, but it doesn't have to be with me. It can be with anyone.'

'Then... thank you, Eragon. Come to my tent tomorrow night, we're doing it again.' So saying, she grasped her shirt and pulled back her panties, before striding out of the tent.


End file.
